


I Hold On (It's Getting Harder to Breathe)

by lourryintheskywithdiamonds (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Gen, News Media, Paparazzi, i'm sorry guys, wow this is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-29
Updated: 2013-11-29
Packaged: 2018-01-03 00:13:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/lourryintheskywithdiamonds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But as he’s constantly being told by his publicist, he <em>can’t seem ungrateful</em>, so he stops for as many photos as he can, smiling the wide, fake smile that shows off his unnaturally white teeth and seems to have become a common occurrence these days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Hold On (It's Getting Harder to Breathe)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Don't Let Me Go' by Harry Styles.
> 
>  **DISCLAIMER:** I (sadly) do not personally know Harry, any of the other boys, or anyone affiliated with them. This is a work of _fiction_ , so please do not share this with anyone even the tiniest bit associated with them.

The man grunts as he attempts to move through the mass of sweaty bodies grabbing for his hair and screaming his name. They’re either twelve year-old girls and upwards or forty year-old men and upwards – there’s no in-between. Security guards pull him every which way, tugging on his arms and chanting the never-ending mantra: _“Keep moving, keep smiling.”_

He blinks as the flashes of camera shutters go off, always greedy men behind them, hollering for his attention. Phone upon phone upon phone, all with brightly coloured cheap plastic cases, are thrust into his line of vision, a wide-eyed, desperate tweenage girl always behind the hand grasping it. The air around him is hot and heavy, and it clings to his clothes, engulfing him in its presence.

_“Keep moving, keep smiling.”_

Some of the girls are crying – why are they crying? As the tears slip from their eyes and streak down their faces in thick, black trails of mascara and eyeliner, he wonders: Why should they be crying for him? What did he do that was so special? Why _him_ , when it could have been anyone else on earth? He doesn’t deserve this.

_“Keep moving, keep smiling.”_

He’s broken out of his thoughts as he stumbles over an out-of-place cobble in the road, but is quickly righted by the strong arms of one of the enormous men behind him that are paid to protect him. That wouldn’t have happened if he could actually _see his own feet_ , he thinks, but quickly mentally slaps himself on the hand. He tells himself that they’re fans, that they deserve it, look at all they’ve done for him! But he still can’t help but feel betrayed. He can’t go out at all in public these days without this happening, and he never even _asked_ for this! He was simply a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed teenager with dreams of becoming a famous singer; he didn’t want this.

But as he’s constantly being told by his publicist, he _can’t seem ungrateful_ , so he stops for as many photos as he can, smiling the wide, fake smile that shows off his unnaturally white teeth and seems to have become a common occurrence these days.

_“Keep moving, keep smiling.”_

That line is getting old, he thinks to himself wryly. Is he not always moving? Moving from country to country, city to city, moving as the pages are hungrily turned of whatever glossy new magazine he happens to be on the cover of? The sad thing is, he thinks, is he is no longer Harry Styles, sixteen year-old who works in a bakery. He’s Harry Styles, nineteen year-old heartthrob, _better be careful, ladies, he’ll jump into bed with the first person he can get his hands on._

And to be quite honest, it's _hard_ to keep smiling when there are the endless rumours and questions and interviews. They never notice the dark circles under his eyes from the lack of sleep and the spots that break out on his forehead from stress, because it’s always all covered by make-up.

His entire existence seems to be a bit like that, he thinks, as he’s pushed up some steps and ordered to duck under some railings. A door is opened, and as he’s forced through it, he turns his head to the side and catches one last glimpse of the hell that his life has somehow become.

_“Keep moving, keep smiling.”_

He slips into the building.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Follow me on:  
> [Tumblr at lourryintheskywithdiamonds](http://lourryintheskywithdiamonds.tumblr.com/)  
> [Twitter at louisdidumeanno](https://twitter.com/louisdidumeanno)


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